The Mockingjay's Legacy, Now Legal
by Blame-It-On-The-Alcohol
Summary: Katniss Everdeen may have died, but she has a little-known legacy, one that is about to make itself known, hell-bent on finishing what she started. And this time, it's personal. But a vicious Quell may destroy any hope of freedom...
1. Prologue: Shock

**Hello! Welcome to my first Hunger Games fic! I'm a recent convert to the series and they are bloody incredible, but since you're reading this fic I imagine you already know that. :)**

**EDIT: So, this got deleted. Slightly less than convenient for me, but oh well. I will be gradually re-updating over the next few weeks, but I've lost a lot of my documents due to a dead laptop so I'm going to have to rewrite -_-**

**This fic is now LEGAL, because the characters have been switched with characters of mine so it complies with guidelines and is no longer a SYOT, it's a SMOT (Submit My Own Tributes :P). (You may recognise them. :D I've tried to keep them recognisable, whilst still complying with guidelines.)**

**This fic is a Quarter Quell, so it's obviously got a twist. I will be regularly updating, so keep an eye out for me! This fic is going to be the most original you'll have seen in a while; I have the arena and storyline meticulously planned and nothing will go as expected.**

**Let the Games Begin…**

* * *

**Prologue: Shock**

The rebellion was crushed but never forgotten, nor the people lost fighting for freedom by the ones who mourn them in the dark. What few know and even less talk about is the final card Katniss Everdeen played before her death. Her last stand that would resonate in the Capitol twelve years after her execution, and could, maybe, possibly, be the spark that began the inferno again.

"As a reminder that nobody was spared during the apocalyptic war that consumed North America, 24 Capitol tributes must compete against 24 District tributes. When all of one team is killed, any remaining tributes are the victors."

President Snow stared with unmasked fury at the Fourth Quarter Quell card that he had just read. This was Katniss Everdeen's doing. He _knew _it. But how could he prove it? And even though he was the all-powerful president of Panem, having no Hunger Games that year could be a signal to the districts that he was loosening his grip on them.

"Let the Hunger Games begin!"

The Capitol audience looked in shock at the news, but then they cheered just as loudly as at any Hunger Games. This was going to be so exciting! Having one of their own be the victor of the Fourth Quarter Quell!

"Mr. President? Sir?"

The cheering stopped dead and was replaced by a deafening silence. Snow slowly rotated around to fix the boy speaking with an icy stare.

"What is it?" he snapped. The boy-the youngest new Gamemaker-looked petrified, but pointed to the card.

"There's a little bit at the bottom that you haven't read out."

Snow, slightly mollified, turned back to the card. The boy spoke the truth; his aging eyesight had missed the sentence scrawled at the bottom of the card. Strange, the handwriting almost looked different to the rest of the card...no, must be his imagination. Mind playing tricks on an old man.

"As a personal reminder to the current President that he cannot be sentimental if he wishes to keep control of Panem, any of his children of Hunger Games age are automatically tributes for the Capitol."

An audible gasp could be heard. It was widely known that Snow had five children. Two were in their thirties, but he had twin boys of fourteen, and a girl who was the Capitol's darling who had just had her twelfth birthday…

Snow quietly descended the steps and disappeared from sight. The crowd slowly dispersed, all muttering quietly about the shock of it all.

Only the most observant noticed the Peacekeepers taking the youngest Gamemaker, stifling his scream, and shooting a silenced bullet through his skull.

* * *

Keteri Rue Everdeen clutched the picture of her mother and father tight to her chest and wept a silent tear. They'd been killed young. Too young. That was all she knew about them, apart from some whispers at school. She knew the only thing that protected her from being killed like her mum was District 13.

But the one thing that everyone agreed on was that Keteri was going to be in the Hunger Games the minute she hit her twelfth birthday.

Today was her twelfth birthday. It was also Reaping Day. Ironic, huh? She thought so. Some people even whispered that Reaping Day had been made to be her birthday on purpose, but she knew that was rubbish. The Capitol couldn't care about her that much...

She hugged her guardian, Haymitch Abernathy, and walked out of their rickety, homely shack's door with her head held high. She knew what her mother would be saying now:

"Keteri Rue Everdeen, you were named for another brave 12-year-old girl in the Hunger Games, and for the first mockingjay that was ever discovered. Mockingjays were created despite what the Capitol wanted. So were you."

"Ketty!" She heard her two best friends, Lune and Acorn, calling her to the crowd. She ran after them, heart racing in terror for what was to come.

* * *

**And may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favour!**

**Here is the tribute list:**

* * *

**District One:**

**Khione Raider, 15  
****Alexander Stream, 18**

**District Two:**

**Oliver 'Lucky' Chance, 16  
****Harmony Chiswicke, 18**

**District Three:**

**Leilani Wire, 13  
****Ki Border, 13 (was my character to begin with :D)**

**District Four:**

**Bairre Literi, 16  
****Katrina Atoll, 14**

**District Five:**

**Acassia Nox, 15  
****Penn Cillian, 12**

**District Six:  
**

**Misty Kinnett, 16  
****Caden Lune, 16**

**District Seven:**

**Jedidiah Birch, 17  
****Jerilyn Moran, 18**

**District Eight:**

**Jai Hutch, 12  
****Rosalinda Fuse, 16**

**District Nine:**

**Grady Winner, 13  
****Cypress Wills, 12**

**District Ten:**

**Erah Letters, 18  
****Vendetta Alvarez, 14**

**District Eleven:**

**Lily Bell Sleet, 16  
****Keith Samuels, 16**

**District Thirteen:**

**Shark Thistle, 18  
****Terra Humi, 18**

* * *

**Capitol Girls:**

**Afrodille 'Dill' Kinnock, 14  
****Angelica Flight, 16  
****Celia Sly, 12  
****Charlotte Swan, 12  
****Emories Keylock, 17  
****Graffiti Ivory, 16  
****Ivy Celeste, 12  
****Lilith 'Raven' Evermore, 16  
****Melody Snow, 12  
****Sylviette Navy, 15  
****Terrinia Rain, 18  
Valentine West, 16**

**Capitol Boys:**

**Apollo Tyne, 14  
****Blaze Vienna, 17  
****Demitri Knight, 17  
****Honor Gold, 16  
****Kit Avial, 18  
****Maximum 'Max' Cherry, 12  
****Richard Avial, 18  
****Seascape Kyre, 14  
T****ranio Filament, 17  
****Vigo Mirror, 16**

* * *

**You won't be disappointed!**

**Kara xxx**


	2. District One: Hope

**Hiya my amazing readers!**

**My exams are over :D So I am going to try and update as much as possible in the next few weeks. Problem is, my documents got wiped out so I'm having to rewrite all the chapters from scratch, at least until my hard drive gets recovered :/**

**Anyway, here are the District One Reapings! Allow me to introduce 15-year-old Khione Raider and 18-year-old Alexander Stream! In this gem-studded District, everyone is expected to be glamorous, beautiful, and murderous, like a diamond-handled revolver; but as we will see, not everyone conforms to these standards.**

**Old readers, I hope this isn't too different to the previous One reaping, and new readers, I hope you like my writing! :) **

**Kara x**

* * *

_**~Khione Raider, 15, District One~**_

I wince slightly as a wispy ray of sunlight falls across my eyes, forcing them open. Guh. I hate mornings. I'm about to curl up and go straight back to dreamland until I'm hit with two things; the realisation that it's Reaping Day, and the smell of pancakes.

Instantly I've bolted out of bed, shrugged on some jeans and a grey T-shirt (fits the mood, and admittedly brings out the silver in my eyes really nicely, and I'm not _that _vain normally but hey, it's the reapings, with lots of people around, I'm allowed to look nice) and am running down the stairs. Reaping Day and pancakes shouldn't really go together. It leaves a bittersweet taste that is quickly overrun by syrup.

Mmm, pancakes.

Kads (Kadis, my 17-year-old looks-like-someone-from-the-freaking-mafia-but-is-really-softer-than-melted-marshmallows older brother) and my dad, Orion, are both eating at the table, I'm surprised they made it that far before tucking in; they're both huge, and eat enough food to satiate a decent-sized rhino. They both look up at me, smile, and give a simultaneous grunt of greeting before returning to food.

I kinda love my family.

Just as I'm finishing, Maggie and Kista both burst in. I squeal and hug them both; I haven't seen them in a week-the week before Reaping Day is Training Week, where everyone crams in as much combat time as possible, just in case. It's not compulsory but if you stay at home and laze around you get mullered by your parents most of the time. I know my dad would've killed me.

Dad's one of the most famous trainers around; used to run a training school, but he's not retired so Kads and I are his only prospects. You could say he's half successful. Kads is built like a horse on steroids, but me? I've...never really been sucked into that kind of thing. It's not that I greatly disagree with the Games, and I have trained my whole life so my arms and legs are quite muscled and I know a lot about survival etcetera; it's just that I don't think I'd actually be able to kill anyone. I'm fifteen! I should be chatting with guys who _aren't _homicidal maniacs and dying my hair (actually, scratch that last one; I love my hair, it's so white-blonde it's literally white and sparkles under sunlight).

Maggie and Kista are similar to me. Kista's brilliant, she's been my best friend since I could eat solid foods, and she's kind, always optimistic and hyper all the freaking time. We need more people like her. But Kista spearing someone through the heart? That's about as ridiculous as a talking Russian meerkat. Maggie's like a mom or an aunt; always there for you, nags you, loves you to pieces. She's actually younger than me, but you wouldn't think it; she's about six feet tall and her rainbow-tipped dark hair makes her look at least eighteen. She's my ticket into every awesome nightclub in District One! I have quite a few friends; unlike most people, I tend to get on with people quite easily, and I don't challenge people to a duel as an 'initiation' into the friendship (you think I'm exaggerating, don't you? It's actually a fairly common occurrence) but Kista and Maggie have always been the most special ones, because I know they'd be there for me even if I was the weediest, most pathetic kid in all of One.

Maggie slips her arm around my shoulders and looks over my shoulder. "Kads, Jay, get your asses over here! If we're late to the Reapings and I have five thousand people staring at me when I've been up since four in the morning and I look like death, you are _so _on my list."

Another reason why I love my friends.

Kads and Jaede, Kadis' best friend who must've just come in when I was busy with Kista and Maggie, quickly clean up the plates and run after us as we saunter out of the door, giggling. It's a lot of fun messing with the boys, especially since they're basically made of granite, a stack of T-bone steaks and testosterone. Not much brain action going on.

Except for Jay. I glance back at him and blush slightly, and Kista notices and prods me in the ribs, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Okay, fine, I like him. I've liked him for quite a while; it's cliché as hell, but he's _different _to the others; he actually has a semblance of sweetness and sensitivity in him, and he listens to you and makes you laugh and is actually _intelligent_. A lot like my brother, actually, but I can't exactly date my brother, can I? Notwithstanding some members of certain incredibly rich families in One who have apparently tried. Shudder.

I've wondered whether to ask him out for a while; but I don't really want to have a relationship with anyone while the shadow of the Reapings and training is being held over our heads like a grand piano dangling from a rope. Still, he is incredibly handsome; I can see his muscles every time he moves his shoulders, and his eyes are so bright blue you could just get lost in them...KHIONE HYACINTH RAIDER, THIS IS NO TIME FOR HORMONE-FUELLED DROOLING OVER YOUR BEST GUY FRIEND! I mentally yell at myself, and shake my head as we enter the town square, ignoring Kista's knowing grin with a scowl.

The escort staggers onto the stage in seven-inch platform heels-I think every girl over the age of eleven collectively winces-and smiles widely as she holds the microphone. I'm surprised she can see, with the amount of makeup on her eyes. She introduces herself as Onyx Lovegale and quickly takes a slip out of the bulging crystal ball, staggering back to the front of the stage

There's only a few seconds for fear to grip you like a vice; it shouldn't, but for me it does. I know I'm capable, I'd have a good chance of winning; but the idea of it fills me with dread.

As her lips form the name, I'm struck by the thought that Kadis might be reaped. Dad's famous in One; people have always said that a Raider kid was bound to be reaped, sooner or later.

(They just picked the wrong kid.)

"_Khione Raider!"_

What? No...freaking _hell_! Out of all the people in this godforsaken place who _want _this...

Shaking from shock and fear, I walk slowly up the stairs, flinching at the escort's ice-cold touch as she puts her arm around my shoulders and tugs me onto the stage, smile fixed and eyes blank. I desperately cling to the hope of a volunteer, but I know it's hopeless. There's a list tacked up in the Town Hall of tributes not to volunteer against for any reason whatsoever, because of their skill usually (or so they say) and I've been on it since I was eleven, mostly because of my notoriety due to Dad.

I've never hated my surname so much.

Soon the moment ends, as I knew it would, and I'm smiling and trying to keep my composure and the muscles in my legs have seized up from trying to hold me up and _why isn't the world breaking? Everything's just broken for me, why is everyone else still smiling and standing and why is life carrying on without me?_

I don't even pay attention to the boy volunteering, I just see a shock of black hair and a surly expression out of the corner of my eye. The second the crowd disperses, I sprint into the town hall into the Goodbye Room, guarded by ice-eyed Peacekeepers.

Maggie and Kista run in first, enveloping me in a teary hug. Kista somehow makes me laugh, when I didn't think it was possible; "Swear on your life that you'll come back and not die! Oh, wait, that's a contradiction isn't it? Darn." Maggie just stands there, shellshocked, and suddenly she's not glamorous and older-looking, she looks just as young as me, and just as scared. "Be safe," is all she can choke out before the Peacekeepers take them away.

My family's next. My parents, smiling happily, giving me last-minute pointers and telling me how much they love me. Maybe I should be angry at them, but life just feels too short. Kads is more subdued, but when my parents are gone he crushes me in an embrace and tells me I'm good enough for this, I can win, he'll be rooting for me at home. The words don't mean much but he being there does, it means everything. For a second, I almost believe I can win. Then I look at my arms-slender, nothing compared to the other Careers, that is if I'm accepted at all-and deflate like a pinpricked balloon.

I collapse back into the chair, tears streaking down my cheeks now that they can, thinking I've had all my guests. But then the door opens once more, and I hear a barked "Two minutes." It's Jay, the sun lighting up his light brown hair as he runs a hand through it nervously.

"Hey..." he says nervously, soothingly, and walks up to me. "How're you holding up?" I laugh in spite of myself.

"Been better, thanks."

He stands there, uncertain, for a second before shaking his head. "Okay, I'll cut the crap and get to what I want to say. I've got 90 seconds, I've liked you for about a year but always been more than a bit scared to admit it because I'm best friends with your brother and he could rip my head off and use it as a bowling ball." I giggle slightly, cut off by a sob, then fall silent as his words sink in. "But if I don't do this, I'll regret it for the rest of my life, whatever comes of it. And I've wanted to do _this _for quite a while now." He forcefully pulls me up, and meets my lips with his, and for a second I'm twirling through meadows and it's way too fast and isn't even close to sinking in but it feels like a happy-ending movie instead of what it is, which is real life.

After a second, or maybe more (however long it was, it was too short) I reluctantly pull away, smile ruefully and shake my head, trying to keep my legs from turning to jelly. He visibly droops like a sad puppy, so I quickly explain.

"Jay, I like you too. Trust me, I do. But I'm going to the _Games. _There will be people better than me there. You know it as well as I do. 48 people go in, 47 come out in pretty oak boxes. I have no intentions of being one of them, but I have to be honest with myself; I doubt I'm going to win. I don't want you to constantly be thinking about what might have been if I do...y'know...die," I sigh. "The thought scares me to death, but hey, I've been training for it my whole life. And you know as well as I do that the Victors aren't the same as they were before they entered the arena. Something, whatever it is, changes them. I don't want to hurt you." I lower my head and let his hand, twined in mine, free as the 'keepers escort him away. He stares at me, unreadable, his lips slightly tinged with cherry lipstick, and his eyes like misty glass.

I run to the carriage, sit there and stare ahead, thinking about what might have been and what might be as the train pulls away. Thinking about whether I should have told him the truth; that what I said is true, but it's only a small part of it all, of everything. Thinking about what I'll miss.

At least I had a first kiss.

_I don't want to die, but if I do, I'm not taking anyone's heart with me._

* * *

_**~Alexander Stream, 18, District One~**_

"ALEX! Get your skinny ass up _now _or I'm going to kick it into next Wednesday!"

Ah, the most beautiful of wake-up calls. I scowl in the direction of the stairs and drag myself out of bed, muttering obscenities. I mean, it's Reaping Day, for god's sake. If I'm not reaped there's no point going; if I am, might as well just go back to sleep and let them shoot me for not cooperating.

Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I smile sarcastically and rub my eyes. Shock of black hair that resembles a hedge no matter what I do with it. Muddy eyes. Skin pale enough to make me look like I've been stuck in a sun-deprived basement my whole life. Sunken cheeks. Skinny arms and legs, which never seem to get any stronger visibly, even though I've been training my whole life. Explains my incredible track record with girls then. As in, zilch.

_Well, at least I have my winning personality._

"ALEX! Don't make me come up there!"

"Good morning to you too, sis," I mutter as I trudge downstairs. Josie Riviera, my older sister and Victor of the 91st Hunger Games. Technically I should be Alexander Riviera, but...it's a long story. I wouldn't say we're close. The only thing that realy keeps us under the same roof is that when a 5'4" girl can take down three Careers with just a sharpened stick and a clump of stinging nettles, _you do what she says._

I'm halfway through my plate of low-fat, sodium-free, high-carb crappy cereal (training has its pitfalls) when she tugs it away and fixes me with a slightly unnerving stare. "You're not going to the Reapings like that. You look like you live in the bins. At least tie your hair back."

After a few minutes of bickering- "Yes, _mom_,"- I eventually admit defeat and tie back the straggles of my hair with an old elastic band, rolling my eyes. Josie is kind of like my mother. Nagging, overbearing, domineering...but I suppose she must care about me, on some level, otherwise she wouldn't have stuck around. Though you'd probably need a fairly heavy-duty submarine to reach that level.

We have to get to the Reapings early because Josie's a Victor. I lean disinterestedly against the railings, watching the people trickle in, in a long, unbroken line. I like watching people. Never been too great at making friends with them; I always end up pissing them off, plus I'm quite quiet and intellectual I guess. Always loved finding things out, random facts. Means I don't have much in common with the meatheads who inhabit my District. They prefer discussing battle techniques to philosophical debates.

"Me District One man, eat meat, make fire, bang girls, beat other men with stick."

Charming.

Oh, and there's the tiny, insignificant little fact that my father's the Head Peacekeeper of District One.

Turning around, I catch sight of him, done up in his _precious _uniform with gun slung over his shoulder. He knows I'm there, but he won't look at me, keeping his cruel, cut-glass eyes staring straight ahead. They're almost the exact same colour as mine; just a little blacker. Josie has my mother's green ones, but we both got my dad's hot temper. I got his mean streak. Josie, strangely, didn't.

_I hate him._

Josie was always his prize prospect; I'm the proverbial disappointment. I was named after Alexander II of Russia, an ancient king in the Old Civilisation; he always wanted me to follow in this King's footsteps, volunteer at age sixteen, become a worthy Victor and rule my District into a new generation.

Fat chance.

So now, I don't exist. That's fine. I'm used to it.

In fact, I'm pretty grateful for it as I clamber over the railing and slip unnoticeably into the crowd. Practically all of the boys are the same height; they're way over six feet (the rumours of inbreeding in this place are not without evidence) whilst I'm lagging around their elbows at about five foot nine. Both my parents are pretty small, but my dad still complains to me about my height. _Josie _managed to hit 5'11", why can't you?

But it's not like I'm _bitter _or anything.

Crowd falls silent, ridiculous escort staggers onstage, mildly amusing. The girl reaped, a short-ish blonde with startling blue eyes who I vaguely recognise from training, looks...normal. No spark of bloodthirst in her eyes. No clenched fists in victory or anger. Just emptiness and glazed-over eyes, and a slight tremble in her step she can't quite cover up. Maybe if I was nicer, I'd feel sorry for her. As it is, I'm merely a little curious. She looks too cutesy to be interesting, though. A basket full of goddamn rainbows.

As her tapered fingers (a little _too _long and tapered to be natural, I wonder; wow, I knew the Capitolians were big on surgery, but that's just kind of weird. Not that Capitolians interest me much; they're all sparkle and no substance) reach for a slip in the second crystal ball, I smile slightly to myself. It's my last Reaping. When this is done, I can go get an internship, at the gem mine or anything, really. Get out of the house; Josie's been dropping less-than-subtle hints for months. And hopefully piss off my dad in the process for not becoming a Peacekeeper.

Life really does start at nineteen.

"_Cable Tyne!"_

Relief runs over me like ash settling from a volcano, but I narrow my eyes in annoyance as the kid starts walking slowly, stiffly, up to the stage. He looks barely thirteen, and he's just skin and bone; not a muscle to be found. I wait to see who'll volunteer. The idea of a District One being a bloodbath is so revolting to most that they'd happily send themselves in their place.

(Since that 'blood traitor' from Four in the Third Quarter Quell, I happen to know that there have been no Career deaths in the bloodbath since, except at the 93rd where the kid with a vendetta against the Careers for killing her friend a couple of years before, Silver, massacred half the Careers in a frenzied attack in the bloodbath before managing to escape into a maize field. Three days later the Careers attempted revenge by releasing viper mutts into the field. They killed both her allies but she managed to get away, and she was actually felled by a genuine accident with a faulty skylight in the end.

Now _that _was an interesting Games.)

I hear footsteps behind me, and assume it's the volunteer that managed to brave the scuffle between the annual crowd of meatheads who wish to go sacrifice themselves at the Capitol's altar. Then I feel a hand seize the back of my jumper and snap my head back, sending the elastic band to the floor and freeing the last strands of my hair. Shock reverberates through me as I try to struggle free, but his fist's like a vice.

My blood runs cold when I hear his voice.

"_I VOLUNTEER!"_

Confused, I recognise my father's clipped, icy voice. _What the hell is he doing? _He crouches down and begins to whisper in my ear, tone calm, dangerous, deadly.

"You've been nothing but a layabout, an endless disappointment. You'll never make something of yourself, so I'm giving you one last chance to let you merit the name Riviera, like your sister gladly did nine years ago. If not, you can do the world a service and go get yourself killed. And I swear on my honour, you will die a Stream and _never _a Riviera."

Then he slips back through the crowd, and the Peacekeepers seize my arms. It's only then that I realise, _he's just shot me through the head._

I don't try and fight back. I could. I could fight my corner, say I was forced (though not by the precious Head Peacekeeper, of course) and a thousand idiots would do anything to get on the stage. But I don't. What's the point? Life's never going to get any better and I'll never measure up to Josie. I'll never have my dad (and it _shouldn't _hurt but it _fucking does_) and I'll _always_ be alone. So what's the point in living out the next fifty or so years in my dad's basement, and ending up in an unmarked grave? At least this way, someone, somewhere, might remember me.

Glancing out into the crowd, most people are impassive. The eighteen-year-olds are mixed between happiness, relief, but mostly disappointment at missing their 'opportunity.' Some are staring me down with hate burning through their irises.

Come and spit on my grave. I dare you.

But there's one person I didn't expect to be showing any emotion. At a sideways glance, the seven alive Victors are all still as stone. But Josie, the youngest, the one who was nicknamed the 'Ice Queen' in her glacial arena, is _crying._

Wow. I guess she cared more than she let on.

I don't look at my District partner, I don't look at the Peacekeepers, I don't look at Josie or the crowd, and especially not the monster who makes up half my blood. I try and head straight into the train, but I feel a hand on my arm and instinctively wince.

Josie's dark chestnut hair comes into view and I relax slightly, turning around and seeing her vivid green eyes glassed over with tears.

"I saw what he did, Alex." She surprises me by enveloping my smaller frame in her stocky one as she hugs me, which I don't think she's done...since she left for _her _Games. "I'm sorry...Alex, you can do this. You just need to keep your head down, never sleep for more than two hours at a time, and don't trust anyone." She chokes up slightly but swallows it down, angry at herself. "Here." I recognise the gold band she slips around my wrist as her token from her Games. "For luck."

My head's spinning, but I smile slightly at her. I don't smile. But maybe I want her to remember that I could.

"Bye, Josie."

"Wait!" She clasps my wrist again. "Alex, one last thing. Prepare...to be a different person coming out as you were going in."

I raise my eyebrow. "I imagine I'll be a lot less chatty."

With that, I meet her eyes once more, twist the gold band awkwardly around my wrist (it's a perfect fit) and step into the carriage, closing the door slowly behind me.

She doesn't leave the platform when the train departs; the still figure is still faintly visible miles later, until it disappears into the distance.

I think of useless facts as we race through countryside.

They make good distractions.

_And god knows, I could use a break from reality right now._

* * *

**I hope old readers like the new spin on this Reaping, and new readers like Kiki and Alex! They're very different... :D**

**District Two Reapings will be up ASAP! **

**Kara x**


	3. District Two: Believe

**Hiya my amazing readers!**

**Here is District Two. Now, District Two is synonymous with being ruthless and deadly, as well as heavily affiliated with the Capitol. But the next generation of tributes are growing up here and the fog is lifting; maybe the Capitol isn't as gold and glimmering as some would have them believe...**

**I hope you like Harmony and Oliver! **

**Kara xxx**

* * *

_**~Harmony Chiswicke, 18, District Two~**_

_The blade enters the faceless girl's chest cavity and she falls, making me stumble as the cannon blasts through the air. I eye up the boy; District Six, about 5'11", brown hair, blue eyes, looks scared, slim build, muscle definition in the legs and arms, but not as much as the girl. She must have gotten him this far. **Sorry, **I whisper as I send a knife careening through his heart, but not before he whips out a shuriken and I feel it slice into my throat..._

My eyelids flicker open just as light is filtering through the curtains. I don't even need to glance at the clock to know it's exactly 4:59 in the morning. Advantages of training. I've never needed the alarm, but I still set it. It's like a commandment; never leave _anything _to chance. Everything is premeditated. Yes, it's unnerving, but it means that nothing can hurt us; we always expect it.

Well, I say always.

Just as I'm lying there, thinking (there are ten minutes of allotted thinking time per morning. Of course, today is Reaping Day and a day off, but it's programmed into our minds, hardwired; I think if I left the plan, the schedule, it would kill me) I suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of _cold cold cold cold cold _and my lips draw back in a scream as the ice-cold water drips from my face, stinging my eyes.

Luna's standing in front of me, biting her lip so she won't laugh, as I slowly and methodically draw a hand across my face, wiping off the excess water as shivers run down my spine. She's holding a bucket, and looks sideways sheepishly as my fingers twitch, yearning to hold a knife.

"I...I thought you were asleep..."

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND?"

I pounce out of bed and fly through the air like a rabid wildcat, knocking her small frame onto the floor and drawing back my hand to strike. She squeals and bats me off in a slightly pathetic manner, which makes me giggle, and suddenly all the anger is leached out of me and we're play-wrestling on the ground, rolling over and over, laughing our heads off.

This happens a lot. It's a little unprofessional, but what the hell.

"Please, don't ever wake me up like that again," I pant, releasing her from a headlock. "Try hitting me with a pillow or something. Or maybe doing that thing _humans _do, which is _ask _if I'm awake," I sigh, rolling my eyes.

"Well, whoever said we were human?" She winks at me, vaulting onto the bed, turning a half-somersault before landing lightly on the sheets. I'm the stronger of us both, but she's a gymnast, so we're pretty evenly matched. Or we would be, if she ever picked up a weapon.

You're probably thinking that Luna is my sister, maybe my twin. She's not. She's my best friend. It's a long story, and not a particularly happy one.

Her dad argued with Jason Gallow, the Head Peacekeeper of Two. It was a petty argument, but there's a fable around these parts that someone sucked out Gallow's heart and replaced it with a black hole of death long, long ago. Two weeks later, Luna's house burns down with her father, mother and baby brother still inside. Tragic accident, they said. Electrical fault, they said. They didn't even have electricity.

So, Luna, her older sister and younger brother came to stay with us. The next year, not one, but _both _of them get reaped. It was blindingly obvious that this was all fixed, but Gallow goes about three stages past 'holding a grudge' so nobody was ever going to cross him. There's even a rumour going around that Jessa Mage tried to volunteer for Sicily, but got a broken neck at the hands of the Peacekeepers before the words could cross her lips. They say she had an aneurysm. We can't believe anything anymore.

Luna didn't talk to anyone for weeks; she just stayed in the living room, staring at the television. Her brother didn't last past the first few days. Thirteen, slender and scared-looking, he might as well have had a crossfire on his back; they ripped him apart as soon as the Careers turned on each other. Sicily, her sister, fared a little better, but as soon as the final eight gong sounded, the young One girl she'd teamed up with to protect her slit her throat in her sleep. It was quick, at least.

It was brutal, but that's what we live with.

Luna's the light of my life. Most other people would have collapsed under everything, but she...didn't. I don't know why. But it's a strange state of affairs. She looks so petite, weak, vulnerable. She never comes to training anymore; thought of the Games fill her with horror. She's actually said to me, "If I was reaped, I'd just jump off the platform. Easy. Quick." I'm stocky, skilled in combat, seen to be ruthless. Yet, I've grown to rely on her so much that if she was taken away from me I don't know what I'd do. She's more than a best friend. She's a lifeline.

Which is why, just as the escort's lips form around the name 'Luna O'Donnell' this afternoon, I am going to volunteer, and give Luna a chance at life.

Wow, look at me! I have feelings! It's rare for hardline Two tributes, of which I am definitely one (I was taught to hit the bullseye of a foam target with a miniature crossbow and rubber darts before I could even walk; my first word was 'victor') but yes, I'm not a complete sociopath. I have a heart, if you like. I love my parents, especially since they were kind enough to take in Luna when she had nowhere to go. I don't have many friends, but I don't go out of my way to avoid everyone. Yes, I dream of being Victor. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm guaranteed to win; people who do end up in boxes. But I have skills.

Are they enough? Well, I'll know soon.

The rest of the morning passes in an automaton blur. Wash, change, eat, march, one-two, one-two, one-two. District Two is built on routine; apparently what kills a lot of District Two tributes isn't their combat skills, or survival technqiues, but that they become so disorientated that they can't function. I'm trying to disattach myself from routine, one tiny step at a time. Yesterday I didn't get out of bed until seven minutes later than the end of Thinking Time; everyone swarmed around me when I did get up, asking if I was sick.

I think there's something sick about this District. Sick in the head, more like.

The prick of the needle in my thumb takes me out of my trance, and I quickly go into the pen, leaning absent-mindedly against the stolid metal bars. (In other Districts, they're just ropes, but the fights between Careers for volunteering can become so fierce they want to keep it contained.) Glancing out at the sky, I wonder whether it's the last time I'll see this view; the sunlight streaming in through the grey rainclouds, smooth pavements that twine around the city like concrete snakes; a silhouette, the blown-out shell of what was once the Nut, the old Capitol headquarters. Some say there are still skeletons in there of people who died, banging hopelessly against the thick stone when they knew full well nobody would hear them.

I shouldn't love my home, but I do. Simply because it's home. But if every person in it (except Luna and my parents) died, I don't think the world would be worse off because of it.

Thinking of leaving is uncomfortable, so I twine my fingers through my hair to distract myself.

Every District Two citizen falls silent as the escort saunters onto the stage, hair bleached neon pink and eyes blindingly holographic, projecting garish flowers onto her cheeks that gradually morph into different colours. Luna stifles her giggle. It's weird that we are the Districtans most affiliated with the Capitol, and yet we dress simply and plainly (cosmetics serve no use)-even the teenagers rarely use makeup-whereas the Capitolians decorate themselves to the point of near self-mutilation...

She wastes no time in introductions, just plunges her hand into the first crystal ball. Several other girls in the 18 section tense to run, and I let go of Luna's hand. She looks at me, first puzzled, then steps back in shock and mouths 'No,' as I sprint off ahead of all the other girls as the escort's lips form around the name I _know _will be hers.

I vault over the side of the pen and sprint up the straight towards the stage. A more slender girl, about fifteen, smashes into the side of me, knocking me backwards. I meet her eyes for just a second, wild and desperate, in a glance that says all I need to know; _if I don't do this my parents are going to disown me._

It's a common fate. Sometimes death is better than having never existed in the first place in their eyes. At least if you die 'honourably', they'll put flowers on your grave.

Guilt floods through me as I brush her away with an apologetic look and bound relentlessly up the staircase, just as the word 'Luna' falls from her tongue and is carried away with the wind.

"I'm Harmony Chiswicke, and I volunteer," I say, slightly breathless. The girl has tears slipping down her pale cheeks, which she wipes away angrily and slinks back into the crowd amidst disappointed sighs of other, not as quick or determined girls who will now go home, faced with sixty years of dishonourable survival.

As the stage seems to shake beneath my feet as Luna's tear-filled, angry stare rips into my heart, I wonder about whether I made the right choice. I wanted to grow up. Become a Peacekeeper's apprentice and eventually a high-ranking officer in the Capitolian secret service. Maybe even have a family, and provide for my parents in their old age. They'll be lonely without me.

But as the slip bearing the name 'Luna O'Donnell' in bold, unmistakeable letters flits past my eyes and comes to rest on my sleeve, I pick it up, scrunch it into a tiny ball and place it in my pocket. At that second, I know I can't change my mind.

Because if I hadn't done this, I would've spent the rest of my life wishing I had in front of Luna's moss-covered tombstone.

The boy tribute is picked; a cocky, arrogant, handsome specimen who's typical of what you'd expect. He looks at me with what I think might be a flirty look, and I quickly rebuff him with the most vindictive stare I can muster, practically making him shrivel before my eyes.

It's quite funny, although I can't think of any reason to laugh. Not now.

I've seen the Goodbye Room before; when I was a little kid and training hadn't started yet, your 'initiation' into the childlike 'Career club' was to break into here. The carpet is plush and an eerie shade of blood-red that you only ever see on the Games; rumours abound about it. There are a few heartless wooden chairs scattered around, and magazines on a rickety table that are smashed around, ripped up, but never read.

I pick one up, then put it down again. Life's too short. I run my hand through the carpet, wondering at why it's so soft; something _that colour _shouldn't be soft, it's wrong, it's unnatural.

Luna bursts in like a fired-up whirlwind, and instantly slaps me around the face before falling, sobbing, into my arms. Wordlessly, I pass her the slip, which she reads, eyes wide and icy with fear. She puts an arm around my neck, and just says, "Be safe," before silently running away again. I mentally store random facts about her; the exact shade of green of her eyes, the way she skips slightly when she walks, how her poker-straight hair waves slightly at the ends when the sun lands on them. I can't forget. I _won't _forget.

Parents come, parents congratulate and fire various tips and advice that have already been drummed into me a million times over (but it's still comforting), parents hug, parents leave. I wonder if I'll forget their faces. Then I finger the locket around my neck with their photo in that never leaves my skin, and smile.

Who knows?

Maybe I'll win.

But luck won't play any part in it. Luck is a myth. Desperation is reality.

* * *

_**~Oliver 'Lucky' Chance, 16, District Two~**_

I stare at myself in the mirror and my face splits into a grin. My muscles could cut glass; my sword skills are unrivalled, and my eyes are as sharp as they are blue. This is it. This is the year.

My brother walks in on me flexing in the mirror, and I quickly put my arms down but he's seen me, he looks at me sceptically. "I always did know there was something a bit weird about you," he snarks, vaulting onto the top bunk bed and picking up the book he keeps under his pillow. "You'd ask yourself out if you could."

I grit my teeth and grab a shirt, hastily putting it on. "Well, the Capitol like to see someone in shape. Someone who's got great looks as well as talent. Someone who can make the ladies swoon."

"Which would be who exactly? Only date you've ever had was when you were five, and the girl just wanted your breaktime candy." He leans back and fixes his eyes on the page, but suddenly he snaps them back and looks at me, confused. "What's the Capitol got to do with anything?"

"Oh, I'm volunteering this year," I say coolly.

He sits bolt upright, mouth gaping open. "What? Are you mental? You're a fecking hobbit! They'll string you up by the ankles and use you as mutt bait!"

His words are half-joking, but there's fear in his eyes. Come on! Yes, I'm five foot four...but what does it matter? I'm invincible.

"Relax, bro! You know I've trained for this. Besides, being smaller gives you an advantage in fights. You can stab 'em right where it hurts." He still looks uneasy.

"It's your funeral. Better hope your nickname's apt." He pretends to return to his book, but I know Max better than that, he's not focussing on the words. He always was a worrier. Bit weird like that, prefers books to guns. He doesn't get how awesome winning is.

My nickname's Lucky. It's because I got dropped in a fast-flowing stream when I was a baby, but just ended up on the banks a couple miles further down, a bit bewildered and sporting a seaweed hat. (I was cool even then.) Stuff like that tends to happen to me; like I almost got hit by a boulder once, but it landed a couple metres away from me. People say that someone is trying to kill me, but they've got really bad aim.

Luck means everything. Often tributes are pretty well matched in the arena. Then it just boils down to luck; whether the mutt notices you or leaves you be, whether your costume is a hit or a miss, whether your allies stick by you or the bastards hang you out to dry. Luck. And I have it in bucketloads. Along with handsomeness and boyish charm, of course.

(...Okay, fine, I haven't had a date yet. The girls in this District aren't normal! They're all trying to kill each other, and they make this really high-pitched screaming noise when anything happens and the only guys they date have facial hair. Bah, humbug.

Who needs 'em? Once the trophy is mine, so will any girl I choose.)

"Well, I'm going. You gonna come with?" I ask. Secretly, I'm sort of hoping he will. Both my parents will be there, of course, but I've always been pretty close to Max, though we're really different. And there's always at least a vague possibility that you won't come back.

He looks down at me, biting his lip like he always does when he's nervous. There's a glimmer in his eye that almost looks like a tear, then it's gone and I convince myself I imagined it.

"Come on! Look, I'll cheer you up. I found this awesome joke yesterday." I'm always cracking jokes. Life's too short; why take it seriously? "Never ask a tennis player about love. It means nothing to them."

I wait for a second for him to get the joke, then he groans. "Whoever told you that you were funny has inflicted a great plague upon the world." But he looks a little brighter, and when I leave the house (our parents are already at the square; they're good friends with some of the Peacekeepers that work the square from the morning) he falls into step behind me.

The walk isn't far. We don't talk, because I can't think of anything really to say and he's never been much of a talker. What do you say when you're going off to the arena? There's a possibility whatever you say will be the last thing you say in person to them, so it's difficult to think of it. And what do you say to your brother when they're heading to the arena? "Good luck, hope you don't die"? It's hard. A lot of volunteers just run straight to the train and don't bother with goodbyes.

It's easier.

But I won't lose, so it'll be fine.

When we reach the square, I realise with a jolt that we're late. A different volunteer, a hulk with arms like tree trunks, is trudging up the stairs, victor of the fight for tribute. Two hopefuls lie defeated on the ground up the aisle before the stage. One just has a broken nose, but another is lying still, head twisted at an angle. It's not uncommon, but although I'm very acquainted with killing, seeing him dead, hair hanging over his eyes, neck at a 90-degree angle, it makes me uneasy and I look away.

Then I shake my head and force myself to look at him again. It's no big deal. Crap happens. Life is short.

Adrenaline takes over me and I sprint up the stairs, knocking the hulk off them with a lucky punch. He sprawls onto the floor, then picks himself up, teeth gritted and grazes on his face, but it's too late, I've won! I get to be the tribute! I'm excited, but not as happy as I thought I'd be. It's tainted by bittersweetness. Maybe because of the dead guy. I don't know.

The girl is already on the stage, and I finally notice her, doing a double-take. She's _smoking _gorgeous, fairly tall and willowy with chestnut hair, and she's giving me a look that's either a smoulder or a get-the-hell-away-from-me look. I don't know. I was never good at reading girls.

But her muscles could snap my neck, so I decide maybe she should be off limits. Shame.

We stand there as the crowd disperses, and my eyes meet my family's. My parents, eyes shining with glory and adoration. My brother, lips pressed into a tight line. I think of what I should say to them, and my mind goes blank.

Truth is, I don't want to say goodbye, because I don't want to think about what that might mean.

So, as my District partner saunters into the town hall (man! She's even sexy when she walks!) I slink onto the train instead, not taking a minute to wonder if it's a mistake because I know I'll see them all again, and it'll be all the sweeter.

I'm just thinking about not having a token, when I notice the anklet on my right ankle. Oh, I remember. One summer a bunch of the trainees helped out at a psychiatric hospital on the outskirts of Two, something about 'learning human relations' (most people in this District wouldn't know civilised conversation if it bit them in the ass). I don't know, I quite liked it there. A seven-year-old girl, I forget her name; she was the daughter of one of the patients, and when I'd finished working there she gave me the black anklet she'd made.

Thinking about it, I feel a bit warm inside.

As the train pulls away, I wonder where she is now, and it hits me that one day she'll be old enough to get reaped. She was really little and innocent, and one day she might end up in the Games. The Games isn't the place for her. A dollhouse is the place for her.

For a second I wonder about all the people in the Games who _don't _want to be in them, who haven't trained their whole lives, who wish for a volunteer but they never come. The concept is almost impossible to grasp.

Who wouldn't want to win?

Winners are the only people who are remembered.

* * *

_**I hope you liked the District Two tributes! Yes, Ollie's arrogant, but I promise he's not quite as moron-y as he seems :)**_

_**District Three coming soon!  
**_

_**Kara xxx**_


	4. District Three: Save

**Hiya my amazing readers! :D**

**I've been having a bit of a crisis about this story. All the chapters of it are on my now-ruined hard drive, hence I'm having to rewrite all 100k words of it. But I love this story, and I have so many plans for the arena and the storyline, I really don't want to abandon it. It's going to take a while, but I'm going to rebuild it.**

**Please, back up your chapters if you haven't already-don't be as stupid as me!**

**Kara x**

* * *

_**District Three Reapings**_

_**~Ki Border, 13, District Three~**_

As usual, I wake up when it's only just getting light. District Three looks strangely pretty at sunrise, all the pinks and oranges against the greys of the metal. Cece just stares through the window until it dissipates. It's all the beauty she gets.

"Ki?"

I look over at her. She's curled up on the windowledge, the dated material of the curtains forming a blanket over her thin shoulders. "Ki, what's Reaping Day?"

I freeze. I promised myself I'd keep Cedar safe for as long as I could...but I can't shelter her forever.

"It's...just something that happens. You know your eyes?" Cece nods, blinking the amber-coloured eyes that have run in our family, or what's left of it, for so long. "You know that there's an explanation for why they're not blue or grey or green like the other kids, but it's boring and long?" She nods again, staring up at me. "Well, Reaping Day's like that. But you don't have to worry about it yet." Guilt washes through me, but I can't do it. Not yet. She's too little and her eyes are too bright.

Satisfied, she leaps off the windowledge, bouncing over to me, eyes glittering. "Can I go play with Carey now?" she asks, and I smile. To Cedar, my best friend Carey might as well be God. "Sure, Cece. But don't go running into her like last time! You're almost as big as she is now!"

"I'll tell her that her twin says hello!" she grins. She calls us twins. In fact, in terms of looks we're polar opposites; she's pale, blue-eyed, petite and half my size despite being two years older. But we're so alike in personality, we're a lot like siblings. Carey sort of jumped into our lives; she chased off a bunch of older boys that were tormenting me for being a 'werewolf' when I was about nine, and we became instant friends. She basically loved my little sister on sight, said she'd always wanted a little sister, and now Carey's like a mother figure to Cedar. It's brilliant, but it also breaks my heart a little that she's forgetting her real mother. It shouldn't but it does.

She bounds out of the tiny room we both share, into the crowd of kids milling about in the corridors. Spiral Orphanage, which we've called home since I was four and Cece two, is a miserable old place filled with far more kids than it can hold. That's due to the fact that most of its residents aren't orphans. Since we get two hot meals a day, often families will leave their kids here as a last resort when the money's run out-this is the poorer part of District Three, and whilst starvation is rare, it happens. What they don't get is that even if you have shelter and food, this place _does _things to people. It's like sensory deprivation; the workers here will keep you alive, but there's no love to it anywhere, no kindness or hope.

I've tried to keep Cece safe. So far, I've succeeded. But it's hard being a 'dad' at 13. If it wasn't for Carey keeping her occupied sometimes, I think I'd explode. I don't have a social life; I spend all my time either in this place, or out working as an intern at Conecta, a company that programs computers for use in Capitol offices. I'm trying to save money to get Cedar, me and hopefully Carey into a house...I don't want to end up like Carey's parents did, begging outside the front door for the officials to take their baby daughter...

As for Cedar and I, our mother jumped off a bridge. She was from a line of gypsies, they were all over the District before the technology arrived. That's how we got our eyes, she used to say. Her head just couldn't make sense of being ripped out of her world into another one, I guess. Cece says she sometimes remembers her face. As for Dad, I don't know. I look for orange eyes in crowds, sometimes.

With a heavy heart, I button up my good shirt for the Reapings, and look at myself in the mirror. I almost laugh. With my dark skin rough and chapped from a combination of the work we have to do around here and playing with Cedar, as well as me being about six and a half feet tall, I look more suited to plantation work than sitting here in a starched-up work shirt. Some people say I'm intimidating, but really, I just wouldn't be able to stand up to anyone. 'Gentle giant,' Carey calls me. Plus, I've always been quiet. I'm not antisocial; I just like what I say to mean something.

Carey has no such qualms.

"Ki!" Carey runs in, followed closely by my little sister. "Cece finally caught me when we were playing Chase isn't that fantastic she's really growing up now isn't she, Cedar honey go and get breakfast it's going to be a long day and you won't be able to grow up to be as tall as your brother if you just live on one meal a day-" Cedar nods and runs out, Carey waits for her to leave then closes the door firmly behind her.

"Ki are you serious you still haven't told Cece about Reaping Day? You're not going to be able to protect her forever you know it's required viewing from the age of twelve upwards she's not a baby anymore-" she takes a breath, "by the way are you okay? Are you worried about the Reapings? I know I am, I'm fifteen now after all-" she hugs me, then steps backwards. "You look ridiculous in that outfit by the way. No offense."

"None taken." I smile, attempting to process all she just said. I'm not kidding; she talks like she's on caffeine hyperdrive, every minute of the day. "And I will tell Cedar everything. Just not today, okay?" I look at her firmly, and she sighs and nods.

"And yes, I'm worried. I just wish the tesserae wasn't compulsory." If you're in District care, you're obligated to sign up for tesserae, in order to 'make up for the resources the District is spending on you." They might as well say 'wasting' because that's what everyone thinks, after all. About three quarters of the kids who leave this place at 18 are sending their children to it thirty years later. It's a vicious cycle I'm not going to fall into. I won't fail Cece, or Carey. I _can't._

We leave Cedar in my room and tell the official outside she's got contagious flu (he knows we're lying, but he doesn't care). Then we walk to the Reapings. We don't talk; we don't need to. We just think, and it's like we can read each other's minds. Maybe Cedar's right; maybe we are twins on some level.

I sort of space out, and when I'm back out of it, the first name has just hit the air. _"Falen Wire!"_

I don't recognise her name. A girl about my age flies out of her pen at breakneck speed to volunteer. Tears stream down her cheeks. I already know she must be the sister. That's the only reason for volunteering. Even a best friend...even that bond is rarely worth risking your life. You hate yourself afterwards, but it's true. The only bond that even comes close to that kind of sacrifice is between siblings.

Usually I know the kids that have been reaped. This one makes me even sadder; this family managed to make it somehow, and now it's all broken and ruined. I've dulled myself to it most of the time; I don't cry anymore. I don't even change my facial expression any more. But I'm not so cynical and jaded that I don't feel anything anymore.

The escort, in her garish dress and impossibly high-heeled shoes, and her clipped, brusque accent, reaches delicately into the boy's ball and picks out a name label.

This is when my life ends.

"_Ki Border!"_

I don't feel anything. I should, but I don't. I walk up to the stage calmly, robotically. I look Carey in the eye; she's crying, it jolts me. _Go. Fetch Cedar, _I mouth at nods and slips out.

The girl on the stage-I suppose I should call her my partner, I realise-is shaking. I notice that I'm shaking too, which is strange, because I feel fine. Almost weightless. I taste salt, not sure whether it's sweat or tears or rain. It could be seawater. Clearly, anything's possible.

I make it through the waving, my lips form a distorted smile at the camera, my eyes feel like they're burning. I just about make it off stage before I crash.

"Kiii!"

I wake, just like I do in the mornings. Cedar's nestled on my chest, padding my face with her palm. It's light, there's no sunrise. I remember everything. I hope it won't ever hit me. I kiss Cedar and tell her to go home, that Carey will look after her now, and that she might not see me for a while, but it'll be okay, I'll be there. She nods and bounds off. I memorise her face, her steps, her smile.

Carey hugs me like a vice. I notice the carpet in the Goodbye Room is blood-red. Fitting.

"Ki, you've got to win. There are 47 other kids out there, but none of them have what you have; you have a _family. _You have to come back!" Her voice cracks and she covers her mouth, hugs me again.

"Carey, I'm sorry. Look after Cedar for me. Keep her safe as long as you can."

"Don't talk like that! You're tall, strong, smart, you can _win-_"

"We both know I'm not capable of killing anyone."

I hug her tightly, kiss her cheek, and wave before I clamber into the train carriage. I watch her standing on the platform, motionless, as the train pulls away.

Then I cry like I haven't cried in years. Because my sister is going to watch me die. Because I can't get the people I care about from falling into the same cycle our parents did.

And because I'm 13, and 13's too young for a pine box.

* * *

_**~Leilani Wire, 13, District Three~**_

"I don't know, Leilani. Five gold coins is a little steep...I could grow them myself for three." Animus Kale picks up the heaping bowl of fresh-picked strawberries and turns over a few to check for bugs.

"But you wouldn't get a personalised delivery service, would you?" I grin. "Please, Mr Kale. Money's tight this month, I would really appreciate the five..." I loook up at him pleadingly. He rolls his eyes, but hands over the money.

"Thank you so much, Mr Kale!" I hand him his strawberries, then quickly get out before he changes his mind. People say I'm pretty good at being manipulative. It comes in useful. What we're doing isn't technically illegal, we've got a licensed plot in the back garden to grow berries...but we're 'supposed' to only trade directly to the District, and not to individuals. But the price we get for bulk trading is barely enough for my aunt and uncle to just sustain themselves, let alone me and my brother and sister; so, Falen looks after the garden so we can get a better price, and I go out and sell it. Arden's some kind of computer genius, so a company's already hired him to type out code that looks just like gibberish to me. Arden's the favourite because he's the baby; Falen's the oldest, so she gets to do stuff like go out alone with her friends and have a boyfriend. I'm the middle one.

Being the middle one sucks.

I run home as fast as my legs can carry me (I got mugged once and I don't plan for it to happen again) and, panting, place the empty bowl and the coins on the table.

"That's great, darling!" Aunt Prali coos at me, in a baby voice like I'm six. I do love my aunt, but she gets on my nerves. Uncle Tren walks (or rather stomps) past, and grunts at me when he sees my earnings, before stomping off again. He's less a man of few words and more a man of many unintelligible noises.

I hear the door open, and Aunt Prali purses her lips in disapproval. Falen's out all the time now, only comes back at mealtimes; the garden's getting neglected. She says Falen's 'acting out' and 'rebelling' and 'being irresponsible'. Falen just replies that she's being completely responsible and Aunt Prali just wants to 'stifle' her and she's 'not going to be a useless housewife like you are'. Then they fight, then they reconcile, cycle repeats. It's mind-numbingly boring.

Those two have never gotten on well, but it got worse two months ago, when my aunt found out that Kellian, Falen's long-term boyfriend, proposed. They've known each other since the moment they were born, and I think it's quite sweet really, but since Falen's only 14, my aunt went mental. Plus, Kellian's got a tattoo so Prali thinks he's some kind of drug-dealer/crime lord. (The tattoo says 'I love my family' but I wasn't going to tell her that, it's funny when she goes mental.) So then Falen started wearing her ring everywhere to piss her off, and now Prali's forbidden them to get married so she's told me she's going to elope and run off with Kellian and that I can go with them if I want...I'm never getting a boyfriend. From what I've seen, it's _way_ too much hassle.

Though I guess my aunt has a good reason to be overprotective. I live with my aunt and uncle because my mother did exactly what Falen's doing; fell in love, married at 14, ran off with her new husband, got pregnant, had Falen a couple of weeks after her 16th birthday; almost instantly she got pregnant again and had me, then she got pregnant with Arden. My father freaked out and ran off, leaving my mum with a toddler, a baby and another on the way.

Then she got reaped.

My aunt was twenty-one when she saw my mother's terrified face as the Games began. My mother wanted to survive; she tried to run away from the bloodbath, but the Careers were smarter than usual that year...and more ruthless. The girl from Two was handy with a bow, went to the top of the Cornucopia and started shooting. She got my mother in the stomach.

She didn't last ten minutes before her cannon went off. They sent her token, a little wooden ball with seeds in it that rattled, back in a wrapped-up package. It was my baby rattle, and then my brother's.

My aunt had no obligation to take us in; the orphanage was the clearly logical option. But she did. I'm grateful for it. She was a single guardian to us for five years before my uncle Tren, with a good job in the city, showed up, and she kind of pounced on the opportunity. I think it was more for convenience than love when they got married. But I think they're happy. Then again, what do I know?

Falen breaks into my thoughts by screaming something at my aunt. I sigh and retreat into the kitchen, cleaning the strawberry bowl. We're all far too hot-tempered and emotional in this family; the girls, anyway-Arden and my uncle are pretty level-headed. I'm normally calm and rational, but when something annoys me I go into what my sister calls 'Rage Mode', where I basically turn into an anger-fuelled tornado that will scream and break things and can't be stopped until I calm down.

"_You don't know ANYTHING! Kellian cares about me! He's not like the low-life that married my mother!"_

"_Yes, clearly he cares about you. That's why he gave you that tacky ring that looks like he picked it up out of a scrapyard!"_

"_How fucking dare you! It took him months to raise the money for a ring!"_

"_Maybe if he actually had a job, it wouldn't have taken him so long!"_

I cover my ears and sigh. My family is completely dysfunctional...A noise ricochets through the house, shutting up my aunt and sister, and rocking the bowl on the counter-top so much I have to quickly push it back before it falls.

The Reaping bells, calling us to the square. A shiver runs down my spine. My mother never thought she would get reaped...how must she have felt when 'Joy Wire' was pulled from the crystal ball? I hope I never know.

"Right, children!" A flustered Aunt Prali smiles and calls us to her. (She always seems a little too cheery on Reaping day for someone whose sister was murdered in the Games, but I digress.) "Remember, you must behave in an exemplary way during the Reapings; your uncle and I will be right outside waiting for you. And Falen, remember you have a responsibility towards your sister."

(Falen's meant to volunteer for me if I get reaped. I think it's because Aunt Prali feels guilty that she couldn't volunteer for my mother. Or maybe she just thinks that Falen will do better. Either way, makes sense.)

My aunt and uncle walk with Falen and I to the square where the Reapings are held (Arden gets to stay at home and mess around with his building blocks since he's still a few months away from his twelfth birthday). My aunt makes small talk, my uncle grunts, I nod politely and my sister glares daggers at her. Fun, fun family time.

There's a commotion as we try and get into the square; someone at the front is trying to convince the official that they've got a blood disorder so they can't get pricked by the needle. Eventually someone takes them away and the line continues. People have tried every ruse possible to get out of the Reapings; then most of them figured out that even if you would die horribly if you entered the square, most of the peacekeepers really wouldn't care.

I wait with the thirteen-year-old girls, counting away in my head and thinking. I always do that; it helps me adapt to new situations. I bet when my mom died and I first moved into Aunt Prali's house, I just lay there in my crib and counted. It's surprisingly relaxing.

"_As usual, adies first! Let's see who our wonderful tribute will be!"_

My head snaps upward. The girls next to me grip onto each other tightly. I look backwards, and see my aunt has buried her face in my uncle's jumper, and he's stroking her hair. That surprises me.

"_Falen Wire!"_

My breath catches in my throat. Falen...it's just like my mother, except Falen hasn't even had a chance to have a life with the love of her life yet.

I know I should do something, but I'm rooted to the spot; I can't move. I just watch, wide-eyed, mind racing, as Falen slowly opens the gate to her pen and steps out. She's turning the iron ring on her figure and sobbing quietly. I hear someone screaming; I think it's Kellian. When that scream hits the air, I know what I have to do.

If Falen dies...my mother's death will have meant nothing. I'm not going to let it happen again...

I quickly scramble for the door. The other girls look at me, shocked-nobody volunteers in Three; we're all far too rational, logical, calculated for that. I flee into the pathway up to the stage, and push Falen out of the way. Her ring clatters to the ground. She instinctively bends down to pick it up, then realises what's happening, and sees my wavy red hair flying out behind me, so different to the others in the crowd.

"_Leilani! NO! I won't let you do this! I'm the older one! You can't do this!"_

I block out her voice, and I'm running running running and I'm at the stage, I've won, or maybe I've lost. The reality hits me, tears spring to my eyes, I'm too young to do this, it's stupid...I look back, my sister is distraught, I can see my aunt in the distance, she looks shellshocked. Then I see my uncle, and it could just be my imagination, but I think he nods at me.

_Do it, Leilani. Get it over with._

I shakily walk up the stairs, hearing my sister collapse to her knees and howl as the Peacekeepers take her back to her pen. The crowd of people looks so huge, it's overwhelming. I suddenly just want to run away and hide.

"My goodness, a volunteer! What's your name, little one?" I avoid the reference to my height, and mumble, "Leilani Wire," before everything goes shaky and I steady myself to stop myself falling off the stage. Although, perhaps that would make everything easier; end it all now...

The boy, Ki, joins me on the stage. He's tall and steady, but I look at him and I see it hasn't registered yet. He looks kind. Maybe he'd be a good ally. It shocks me when I realise, I'm already thinking about allies. I'm already resigned to my fate.

Maybe I'd always known, on some level, that my luck was going to run out.

I sit in the chair in the goodbye room. There are a few magazines on a pleasant-looking coffee table; some are unread, others have chunks torn out, and tearstains on the pages. The carpet is scarlet, and soft to touch. I distract myself by stroking it, like the little cat we had when I was younger. The memories hurt when I think about not being able to make any new ones.

My aunt and uncle rush in (or rather, my aunt rushes, my uncle plods). She hugs me, gabbles a bunch of advice in my ear that I try to understand. She's crying, she says I was always a good girl. I feel uncomfortable; nobody can always be good, I guess she's just trying to make me feel better. It's sweet, I suppose. My uncle gives me a look like, _you did the right thing. _It doesn't make me feel better.

Arden comes in, he's a little out of it. We were never that close. I kiss him on the cheek and make some computer joke. He laughs, hugs me, and runs off, I think eager to play with his building blocks. Distracting himself. Maybe we're more alike than I thought.

Finally, Falen and Kellian. This I knew would be worst. Kellian thanks me over and over for saving his fiancee; Falen yells at him, saying I never should have done that, it was her responsibility to protect me-I yell at them both, saying I don't want my last memory of them to be this. Then everything goes quiet. They both hug me, say they love me to bits, that I'm smart, that I'll make it back and they'll make up a room for me in their new house, they say.

They leave, and I'm left here alone.

I don't cry. I know I will later; that's when it will hit. Denial's hugging me like a blanket, and I like the warmth. So I just think to myself as the train pulls away, and my family wave and wave, cry and cry, yelling that they love me and they'll be waiting for me when _(if) _I come back.

Seems like when you're dying, everyone loves you.

* * *

**I hope you like Lei and Ki! The District Four Reapings will be up soon. Please review, I love getting feedback and it honestly makes me a better writer. And thank you to all the supportive messages about my stories being taken down; you're what's inspiring me to keep writing.**

**Keep being awesome, and I hope you liked the chapter!**

**Kara x**


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